A man following us through the mall seemed creepy at first, but we still weren’t sure whether we were imagining it. Then he followed us into the parking garage, and suddenly there was no question that we were in danger.
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A man following us through the mall was the last thing Megan and I expected while shopping for jeans. Megan suddenly grabbed my arm and quietly warned me not to turn around, asking whether I thought the guy behind us was following us. When I glanced back, I saw a man in a grey hoodie staring at his phone, which seemed angled toward us. We’d already noticed him in the food court and then again at Sephora. Maybe it was coincidence—but we decided to find out.
We abruptly left and headed toward Forever 21. Moments later, the same man appeared on the escalator behind us. My heart started racing. Megan suggested going to security, but I hesitated. What could we actually tell them? He hadn’t threatened us or even spoken to us. We couldn’t see his face clearly beneath his hood. All we knew was that he kept appearing wherever we went.
We entered the crowded store and moved quickly between racks, hoping to lose him. Instead, he walked inside and stopped near the entrance. He wasn’t casually browsing anymore. He appeared to be scanning the store systematically, row by row. We crouched behind a display while Megan wondered aloud why someone would be following us—and whether he’d simply seen two young women and decided we looked like easy targets.
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When he moved farther into the store, we slipped through a side entrance and hurried toward the department store. Our plan was to cut through it and reach the parking garage. My hands were already shaking badly enough that I texted my roommate our location, just in case something happened.
For a moment, it seemed like we’d escaped. We passed the makeup counters and jewelry displays, heading toward the back exit, and I finally began breathing normally again.
Then Megan froze.
The man was inside the department store too.
This time, he was moving faster, as though he knew we’d noticed him and no longer cared about hiding what he was doing. We ran for the back exit. Behind us came fast, deliberate footsteps. An employee asked whether we needed help, but with the exit right ahead, Megan pulled me onward.
We burst into the parking garage.
The crowded mall disappeared behind us, replaced by cold concrete, shadows, and an almost empty garage. We raced toward my car on level three. I reached for my keys, but my hands were shaking so violently that I dropped them onto the concrete. Megan grabbed them, and we finally reached the car.
She pressed the unlock button.
Nothing happened.
She tried again. Still nothing.
The key fob seemed dead. I took the keys and tried manually unlocking the door, but I could barely guide the key into the lock.
Then the garage door slammed open behind us.
The man following us through the mall had entered the garage and was walking directly toward us.
I finally forced the key into the lock, but it wouldn’t turn. Megan desperately pulled at the door handle while his footsteps echoed closer. Then he began speeding up, almost jogging. I fought with the key until it finally turned—but the car door still wouldn’t open.
Something was terribly wrong.
He was now only about twenty feet away.
Then I saw his hand move into his jacket pocket.
He pulled something out, and under the garage lights, it glinted.
Megan turned toward him. His hood slipped back far enough for the light to illuminate his face—and suddenly her entire body went rigid. She grabbed my arm so hard that her nails dug into my skin.
Then she gasped that she knew exactly who he was.
And told me to run.
